


the rhythm of this trembling heart

by Zykaben



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU where everything is the exact same except for Martin is a non-TMA vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Canon Asexual Character, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 01, Vampire Bites, Vampire Martin, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: It really isn't Jon's fault that Prentiss went after Martin and trapped the vampire in his flat for two weeks, but he still feels as though he should help in some way. And, well, Martin hasn't been able to feed in those two weeks and Jon can't say he's not curious...The solution is obvious, really.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 25
Kudos: 573





	the rhythm of this trembling heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAndromedaRecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndromedaRecord/gifts).



> My fic for The Magnus Writer's Valentine's Exchange! This fic takes place immediately after MAG 22 Colony in an AU where everything is the exact same except Martin happens to be a run-of-the-mill vampire.
> 
> This fic is for Andy's prompt of "i would really love jon getting his blood sucked by Vampire Martin and it's a good experience for everyone." I hope that you like it! :D
> 
> Also, huge thanks to [osirisjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/), who helped me brainstorm the scenario, and to [Dathen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dathen/) and [Bloodsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/) for betaing the hell out of this fic. Seriously, I cannot thank you guys enough for all your help.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, the fic.

Guilt wasn’t unfamiliar to Jon, but he rarely felt it nowadays, much less so when irrationally directed at subpar, vampiric archival assistants.

And yet.

Jon chanced a glance behind him at Martin as he led him to the old document storage room. Martin, to put it lightly, looked absolutely wretched. He looked moments away from passing out, skin as white as snow—no, Jon was _not_ exaggerating or romanticizing it, the man was a _vampire_ —and shoulders sagging inwards as he stumbled after Jon. It was no surprise that Martin felt and looked awful. He’d been trapped in his own flat for _two weeks,_ fearing for his life, living off of canned food, and unable to _feed._

Jon directed his gaze forward once again and restrained himself from biting at the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Jane Prentiss had decided to lay siege to Martin’s flat. They’d all received texts from Martin’s phone and had taken them at face value, leaving the man to his apparent illness. There was no way that anyone, including Jon, could have been expected to realize something was wrong. He knew, logically, that he was in no way culpable.

But that didn’t stop the inklings of guilt worming—no, not that word, not right now. It didn’t stop Jon from feeling as though he was somehow responsible. He’d been the one to send Martin to investigate the Vittery case. It had been his own steadfast skepticism that had led Martin to returning and then encountering Prentiss. 

So yes, perhaps the blame could not be laid squarely at his feet, but Jon had certainly played a role in bringing about Martin’s current condition.

Soon enough, Jon and Martin had reached the end of the hall and stood before the door that led to document storage. Jon cleared his throat to get Martin’s attention.

“Here it is,” Jon said, somewhat unnecessarily, opening the door. The room was just as disorganized as he remembered it, files and papers scattered about or shoved hastily into boxes and shelves. The cot was pushed against the far wall, two pillows and folded sheets resting on top of it.

“Thanks,” Martin rasped. “I… this, uh, means a lot to me. You listening to me a-and letting me stay here, I mean. I’m still scared but it’s… yeah. Thank you.” 

“Of course. I’m hardly heartless.”

Martin’s lips quirked up in a strained, tired smile. “I know.” He turned to look back at the cot and let out a sigh. “I’ll just… put the sheets on and get some rest.”

Jon debated on whether or not he should just head home and leave Martin to his own devices. He bit back a sigh of his own as the same irrational sense of guilt coursed through him again. “I can help you with that. With the sheets.”

Martin seemed a bit surprised by that, but his smile grew a little less strained. “O-oh! That would be—yeah, that’d be… really nice. You don’t have to or anything, but if you’re feeling up to it I’d really appreciate it.”

Jon nodded stiffly and did his best to return Martin’s smile. It sat awkwardly and uncomfortably on his face, but the way Martin’s face brightened made something warm and almost satisfied settle in his chest. He focused his attention back onto the cot. “I don’t mind. Come on.”

Jon stepped into the room, Martin stumbling after him once again. Between the two of them, they made quick work of making up the cot.

“Thank you, again,” Martin said once they had finished. “I don’t think I could have managed by myself.”

Jon felt a faint stirring of amusement at Martin’s half-joking tone. “It’s no problem, really. It’s just a cot.”

“I suppose, but… all the same. Thank you. I think that I’m going to sleep for… I don’t know, really, but definitely for a long time. ”

Jon hummed in acknowledgment. He looked back over at Martin, taking in his ghostly pallor once again. Guilt and concern tugged at him once again. “And feeding?”

“O-oh, um,” Martin sputtered. “I didn’t—I’m going to do that tomorrow. It’s not a, uh, great idea for me to do that right now.”

“What? Why not? Didn’t you mention that you needed to feed around once every fortnight?”

Martin gave a one-shouldered shrug as he stared hard at the ground. “Well, I don’t _need_ to feed every two weeks. It’s just that… it works out better if that’s what I do. Better to feed before the hunger and the fatigue set in, you know? I mean, you _don’t_ but—you get it. I can go longer, obviously, it’s just… not great.”

“And you’ve been unable to feed for the past two weeks. Because of Prentiss.”

“Yeah, Jon,” Martin sighed. “I need to drink blood sometime soon. But right now I just want to sleep and not have to worry about worms or finding someone to feed from. I’ll be fine.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at Martin. Martin didn’t _seem_ to be lying, but Jon couldn’t be entirely sure. Besides, Jon could admit—to himself, at least—that he was more than a little curious about Martin’s more vampiric feeding habits. How it worked, why it was necessary, what it would feel like to be fed on; standard scientific interest.

Something in Jon’s head clicked, the faint sense of guilt and his own curiosity colliding into an idea. Jon held his tongue for several seconds as his mind raced, running through what-ifs and imaged scenarios faster than he could properly assess them. Still, Jon knew himself well enough to know that now that he’d thought of it, he’d have to see it through. Otherwise the not-knowing would haunt him for _years._

“Well,” Jon started, “I think I may have a way to solve that.”

“Oh?” Martin drew the word out strangely, and Jon couldn't tell if Martin was being patronizing or was simply exhausted.

Jon took a moment to steady himself. He could feel his pulse speed up and his nerves trying to tie his tongue. For a moment he considered backing out altogether, dismissing himself and returning home, but his curiosity was not so easily quelled and Martin was still waiting on an answer. _Well, in for a penny, in for a pound._ “You can drink from me.”

“ _What_? No!” Martin exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently as he took a quick step away from Jon. His eyes were wide and his face, somehow, impossibly, had gone even _paler._ “I’m not—I wouldn’t—look—I can’t just _do_ that, Jon!”

“Why not?” Jon asked, only half-curious. “I can’t imagine that my blood is less than serviceable for your purposes—”

“I-it’s not about being ‘serviceable’ o-or—or _something,_ or whatever you’re thinking. It’s just—it can—drinking blood—” Martin’s gaze fell from Jon’s face to the floor. His voice was soft and unsure when he continued, “It’s… _intimate_. Or, I mean, it _can_ be. Usually, um, it is.”

Jon blinked as he felt his stomach flutter and his face grow warmer. He wasn’t _flustered_ or anything of that ilk, obviously. It was just… a bit of a shock to hear some stray rumors and vague suspicions confirmed. It didn’t do anything to sate his need to _know_ and _experience_ for himself, though.

Jon took in a quick breath. “Right. That… is good to know, certainly. But it doesn’t change the, ah, offer.”

Martin’s eyes snapped back up to Jon’s face. His mouth worked soundlessly, expression turbulent before settling into an incredulous stare. “ _What_?”

“You still need to feed,” Jon pointed out, the epitome of logic and reason. “You’ve gone for over two weeks without blood and, as you’ve said yourself; that needs to be rectified as soon as possible. By your own admission, you certainly aren’t up to prowling about on the streets—”

“ _Please_ don’t put it that way,” Martin interrupted, face twisting and his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t—I don’t _prowl._ I just…”

Catching his expression, Jon scrambled for better phrasing. “Right, of course. I simply mean to say that it would be best for you to feed sooner rather than later, and that I’m perfectly willing for you to… drink from me. It’s what makes the most sense given the circumstances.”

Martin’s contorted back into disbelief. He opened his mouth only for it to snap shut. Opened it again, closed it. Jon had never seen anyone look as flabbergasted as Martin did at that moment.

“Well?” Jon prompted. He was more anxious for Martin’s response than he would have thought, heart still beating against his ribs and resisting the urge to fidget with his hands. He needed to stay calm. Stay level headed. Keep sticking to reason.

“I-I mean,” Martin stammered. “I can’t—I would _never_ ask that of someone, so I can’t—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

Martin let out a sharp huff of air, almost like the sound had been punched out of his stomach. “I…”

Jon tried to think of something else to say, another way to convince Martin that this was a good idea, but nothing came to mind. Besides, if Martin truly _didn’t_ want to feed from him, then Jon certainly didn’t want to force him. He let the silence hang between them, taking in how Martin shifted his weight from one foot to another and how his eyes flitted around, sometimes coming to rest on Jon’s face before darting away.

Finally, Martin took in a deep, unsteady breath and met Jon’s eyes. He was still nervous, that much was clear, but there was something—maybe in the set of his jaw or the tilt of his head—that Jon couldn’t place at first. He realized suddenly that it was _resolve_. He couldn’t recall ever seeing that on Martin before. Jon steadfastly refused to think more on it and stopped himself from trying to find and catalogue all the subtle changes it made in Martin. There would be time for that later. Not that Jon was storing the thought away or anything; he’d just ponder it if it ever happened to come up again.

Jon was pulled out of his thoughts when Martin mumbled something that he wasn’t able to catch.

“Pardon?” Jon did his best to keep the edge of annoyance from his voice, with little success. He rarely had patience for unintelligible words, especially when he was anxious about what those words may be. At least Martin didn’t seem to have picked up on his tone.

“… I said, alright,” Martin whispered, low and soft, just on the edge of what Jon could make out. “I… yeah, if you’re offering and you’re _sure_ that you’re fine with it—I would—I’d really appreciate it.”

Jon stopped himself from displaying any outward reaction at that. Martin didn’t need to know that he was excited beyond purely professional reasons. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“I mean, you might want to, uh, take off your shirt?” Martin suggested. “It can get—well, sometimes blood can spill? Not typically, but better safe than sorry, right?”

That made enough sense. Jon rather liked the shirt he was wearing, and he had enough experience with washing clothes to know that blood was a pain in the arse to get out if it wasn’t cleaned immediately. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Jon gave a small nod. “Alright.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements practiced and efficient. He then shrugged it off in short order, making sure to fold it so it wouldn’t wrinkle too terribly. He looked around for a place to put it and eventually settled on a nearby box that was taped shut. There was a slight chill now, but it was easy enough to ignore.

When Jon looked back up, he found Martin watching him with rapt attention. There was a weight to his gaze, but it bore more resemblance to the comforting weight of a blanket than anything else. Jon shook off the feeling as best he could and cleared his throat.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Probably best for you to sit,” Martin said. “It can get… pretty intense. Most people can’t keep their legs under them while it’s happening.”

Jon hummed in affirmation. That sounded in line with everything else that Martin had told him so far. He took a seat towards the middle of the cot and felt it dip under his weight. It was then Jon realized for the first time just how _big_ Martin was, with the man practically towering over him like this. Jon swallowed and stared down at his lap.

“Okay, good. Great. And you’re… comfortable?” Martin asked, tone edging back into uncertainty. 

Jon paused to seriously consider the question. He shifted in place for a few seconds and took a deep breath. He suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He settled for placing them on either side of him, palms pressing against the sheets and fingers tense with nervous, restless energy. It wasn’t exactly _comfortable_ per se, but it would work well enough.

“I… yes,” Jon said. He resisted the urge to clear his throat. “I’m… ready to go when you are.”

Martin’s face gave a funny twitch before he muttered something under his breath that Jon couldn’t quite catch. Then he nodded and closed the space between them in two quick steps. Jon found himself craning his head back in order to keep his eyes on Martin as he loomed over him. A thrill of _something_ ran through him, too quick for Jon to identify it properly.

Slowly and deliberately, almost as if he were afraid of spooking Jon, Martin lifted his hands towards Jon’s face.

“Your glasses,” Martin said, the words floating gently through the air, “can I, uh. Take them off?”

Jon gave a small nod, just barely dipping his head in permission. Martin’s fingers brushed against the sides of his face as he gingerly removed Jon’s glasses. Jon let his eyes fall shut, purely for the sake of protecting them in case Martin faltered.

Jon let his eyes stay closed for a few moments after Martin had removed his glasses. He opened them and watched as Martin carefully folded in the arms of the frame before leaning down to set them on a nearby stack of documents. Martin paused to make sure that they were situated before straightening back up.

“I-I’m going to have to. Um.” Martin looked off to the side. “Positioning. I-I could, uh, straddle you or have you in my lap? I could also do it sitting next to you or leaning over you, though! If… if those other two make you uncomfortable.”

Jon felt his mouth go dry. “Which is… best for you?”

“Oh, um.” Martin coughed. “Whichever is most comfortable for you. Just… yeah.”

Jon nodded. “Leaning over me sounds like it would get uncomfortable rather quickly. Sitting would likely be for the best.”

“Got it. Budge over a bit?”

Jon shifted towards the foot of the cot. Martin sat down next to him, the cot dipping under his weight. They were separated by mere centimeters, less than that now as Martin angled towards him, head dipping down. Jon stared at him for a moment before lifting his chin to grant Martin better access.

“Are you, uh, ready?” Martin whispered, his voice feather-soft. He was close enough that Jon could feel his breath against his neck.

“You already asked that,” Jon pointed out. He was grateful that it came out quiet and gentle, devoid of his usual sarcastic edge.

“I-I know. I just—I want to make sure you’re, you know, still okay with it? I mean, you can stop whenever, obviously, but I—”

“I’m ready,” Jon interjected. Martin would ramble on for _ages_ if Jon let him.

“R-right. Right. Okay, I’m going to, um, bite you now. Just let me know if—”

“I will.”

“Right.”

Martin pressed closer to Jon until he could feel Martin’s breath wash over his throat. Jon shoved down the urge to swallow. Soon enough, Jon could feel the twin pinprick points of Martin’s fangs scraping lightly against him. Everything was still and quiet for several moments, save for Jon’s pounding heart. Then Martin bit him.

Jon drew in a quick breath of air through his nose as his skin was pierced. Pain blossomed, hot and sharp, where Martin had sunk his teeth in. Jon stopped himself from trying to squirm away, reminded himself that he’d _asked_ for this, that Martin _needed_ this. He choked down a whimper as Martin’s teeth slid out, the sensation utterly alien and thoroughly unpleasant. Christ, why had he thought this was a good idea? What had possessed Jon to demand this be done to him? It just _hurt_ and—

Martin ran his tongue over the bite and Jon gasped as reality suddenly bloomed into _more._

The pain was still there, but it was drowned out by the warmth and euphoria that crashed through him. Jon felt a noise claw its way out of his throat, the actual sound of it lost to the roaring in his ears. His hands shook as he curled his fingers into the sheets, desperate to anchor himself to _something._ It was like, like—Jon didn’t know, he’d never felt anything like this, not that he could remember. It was just so _good_ and so _much_ all at once, intense and overwhelming and wonderful.

Jon sucked in a shaky gulp of air, scrambling to reorient himself. His chest heaved as his mind began to clear, the feeling still lingering hot beneath his skin. He nearly managed to string a coherent thought together when he felt Martin lap at the wound for a second time. Jon let out a strangled sob as bliss overtook him once more, throwing his head back as far as he could, baring his throat fully to Martin.

Jon’s whole body _sang_ as Martin continued to drink from him, whimpers and gasps and whines flowing from him as easily as his blood. Jon’s veins were filled with honey, moving heady and sweet and sluggish through him. Sweltering heat followed with every pass of Martin's tongue, the feeling bordering on unbearable. But just as it tipped towards being too much, Martin drew back, just for a moment, just long enough for the feeling to recede before Martin was laving at the wound again. Everything was just so warm and sensual and _lovely._ Jon wanted to stay here forever, on the verge of drowning in the torrent of sensations that stormed through him.

He felt Martin shift, letting out a trembling sigh as he waited for the next pass of Martin’s tongue, for the next tide of blazing ecstasy to swell, for the next surge of—

Martin pulled back.

Jon’s eyes snapped open.

It took several rapid blinks for Jon’s vision to come back into focus. Martin was sitting up properly, face stretched into a wobbly, closed-lip smile. He was less pale now, the barest hint of color resting high on his cheeks. Hazily, Jon’s mind supplied that it was _his_ blood, that Martin’s face was not-quite-flush with _Jon._ Jon swallowed down the noise that threatened to rise from him at the thought.

“W-well,” Martin said. He was fidgeting and looking at his lap. “Well. That… um. That was… good. Th-thank you for, um, d-doing that. For me.” He let out a huff of air and made to push off of the cot. “I should—”

Jon opened his mouth, trying to force out a sound of protest, to get Martin to _stop,_ but his lungs and throat weren’t _cooperating_ and refused to listen to him. Muted panic flashed through him as Martin stood up, and before Jon could process it, his hand shot out, catching the sleeve of Martin’s shirt.

Martin jolted, whipping his head to stare at Jon. He was making an expression of… some kind. Jon couldn’t quite parse it at the moment, maybe later when his head didn’t feel like it was full of cotton. But Martin’s face was… surprised? His eyes were wide open and his lips were parted. There was a smear of liquid red on his lips.

“Jon? Is everything—are you alright?”

A short, breathy noise punched its way out of Jon. He tugged gently on Martin’s sleeve.

Martin just kept _staring_ at him. “What, um—is there—do you want me to stay? H-here? With you?”

Jon gave a small, weak nod.

“Should I sit? Next to you?”

Another nod and a feeble pull at Martin’s sleeve.

Wordlessly, Martin lowered himself until he was sitting next to Jon again. Jon let go of his shirt.

“… How are you feeling?” Martin asked.

Jon’s swallowed and tried to clear his throat. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and rough, like he hadn’t used it for days. “I’m… hm.”

“A-are… you okay?”

“Yes,” Jon croaked out. He cleared his throat again.

“Oh, that’s—that’s good,” Martin smiled. “I was, uh, a bit worried? You just—you weren’t talking and you looked a bit… lost.”

“I think I might have been,” Jon admitted, his voice coming out closer to normal. “It was… a lot. Like you said. Very intense.”

“But not bad, right?” Martin asked, a hint of pleading coloring his tone.

“No, not bad. It was, well, good. More than I expected. Does it always feel like that?”

“Um, maybe?” Martin shrugged. “I don’t really get bitten myself, ha, but most people I feed from tend to have that kind of reaction. So. Probably, yeah.”

Jon could only nod in response. He absently wondered why more people weren’t amenable to Martin drinking from them if it felt like that.

Martin’s eyes widened a bit. “O-oh, I mean, maybe some of them… are? But I just—I don’t want news of me being a vampire to get out to anyone? Some people are fine, like you and Tim and Sasha, but I don’t want hunters coming after me or anything.”

Jon blinked dazedly at Martin a few times before realizing that no, Martin hadn’t read his mind, Jon had just spoken his thought aloud. “Ah. Right.”

Martin looked away for a moment and fidgeted. “Did you, um, have any other questions? Seems a bit late, but I’m happy to answer them.”

Jon blamed his hazy state for blurting the first thing that came to mind. “Does it feel different to be bit in different places?” He then immediately regretted it. _Christ,_ had his filter just completely abandoned him?

He was still figuring out how to recover from his godforsaken blunder when he heard Martin take in a quick breath. “Uh, maybe? I-I don’t know. I’ve never really asked.”

“Could we try?” Jon’s mouth moved before his brain could stop it.

Martin’s face couldn’t go red, but the ghostly pinkish hue on his cheeks went a shade or two darker. “Um.”

Jon desperately wished that he could turn back time, just go back long enough to not make a damn fool of himself. “Never mind. Forget I ever said anything. _Please._ ”

“R-right.”

Jon leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. Was it too much to ask for the ground to rise up and swallow him whole right now? For some terrible monster from a statement to burst in and whisk him away? What he would give for his legs to stop feeling like _jelly_ so he could walk out of here—

“I-I could try? O-only if you wanted to, though! Just, uh, not now? You’ve lost… a fair amount of blood.”

Jon peeked through his fingers to look at Martin from the corner of his eyes. From what he could tell, Martin was _still_ blushing.

“I-I mean, um,” Martin stammered on as Jon remained quiet. “W-we could, if you—well, you said that but—I just, ah—”

Logic and reason. That’s what Jon needed to grab onto. He lifted his head out of his hands and stared at his fingers. “A study, of sorts.”

Martin startled a bit at Jon’s interjection. “Uh.”

“A study. O-on how vampiric feeding habits have different effects when drinking blood from various locations. It’s something we could look into. In the future.” Jon was going to _faint_ from all the blood rushing into his face. He couldn’t tell which made him feel more light-headed, his embarrassment or the blood loss.

“Oh. O-oh!” Martin visibly perked up. The man was all nervous energy and hesitant smiles. “Right! A study! We can—that’s a great idea. If you’d like to, I mean. Do a study of that. With me.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Jon muttered. “Might get some interesting data.”

Martin nodded. “P-probably? I don’t really know but… yeah. Yeah.”

“Hm.”

A hush fell over them again, only disturbed by Martin’s fidgeting and the sound of Jon’s heart pounding in his ears. Some amount of awkward tension hung between them but it was… manageable. More than anything else, it felt peaceful. Calm.

After a few minutes, Jon drew a deep breath. “I should start heading home soon.” He didn’t move.

“It is pretty late,” Martin said. He seemed to deliberate over what to say next before that same underlying sense of resolve surfaced on his face. “M-might be best to stay here for the night? It’s late, and you’ve lost blood, and it’s been a long day for you besides that, I’m sure, and—”

“Not a bad idea,” Jon agreed. He let his eyes slip shut. “We just need to work out the problem of where I’ll sleep.”

Martin’s response was instant. “You can have the cot.”

“That hardly seems fair. You’ve spent the past two weeks being terrorized by worms.”

“And, like I’ve said, _you’ve_ lost blood.”

Jon groaned in annoyance. “ _Fine,_ we can share. There’s enough room and we’re both perfectly capable of being professional.”

Martin made a strangled sound. “Excuse me?”

“We’ll share. It’s hardly a big deal. Unless you’d prefer I sleep at my desk or on the floor?”

Martin sputtered for a few seconds. Jon let his head fall forward into his hands to hide his smile.

“Just—I mean—it’s—alright, _fine_ ,” Martin eventually relented. “So long as you’re fine with it.”

“I am.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Right. I… I think I’m going to make myself some tea before I go to sleep. D-do you want any?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll be back in a bit, then.”

Jon felt Martin push off from the cot and listened to the sound of his footsteps as Martin walked towards the door. Jon listened as Martin walked towards the door. The sound of his footsteps seemed stronger now, more of a proper walk than a stumble. He heard Martin open the door and the soft _click_ as it closed behind him. And Jon was alone, though he didn’t feel it. Not when he knew that Martin would be back soon enough.

Jon let himself fall onto his side, his head landing against the pillow. He toed off his shoes and scooted as near to the wall as he possibly could, leaning his forehead against the cool stone. He let out a short hum of contentment and felt his body unwind. He was tired, but it wasn’t how he usually felt when he was tired. Less exhausted and more sleepy.

Sleep coming easily to Jon. That was a first.

He hoped Martin would feed from him again. No, he looked forward to Martin feeding from him again—what with their study and all.

Jon fell asleep with the ghost of a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudos or comment if the mood strikes you, they are always appreciated.


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